Blind
by Believe-in-Teyla
Summary: It had started by mistake. He had blindly grabbed her and pulled her into his pitch black sanctuary, at first not realising that she wasn’t the one he had intended to grab at all. Dramione.
1. Blind

Prologue

**Prologue**

It had started by mistake. He had blindly grabbed her and pulled her into his pitch-black sanctuary, at first not realising that she wasn't the one he had intended to grab at all. He'd kissed her and he had sensed her shock, her uncertainty and then, after a moment, her curiosity. It was as her hand blindly groped up and down his arm, as though his arm could tell her everything, that he realised it wasn't the intended person at all.

She had hesitated for what felt like an age after that. He had waited, processing his own thoughts about the situation. He did not walk away; he couldn't; the mystery of the girl before him intrigued him too much.

Her actions had been hesitant; she had lifted her face to his and had slowly, carefully and blindly sought out his lips. The kiss that greeted him was soft, hesitant and experimental. It was everything he had expected from her but nothing that he had intended.

He had breathed in and embraced her then, taking in the smell of flowers and musk.

He had closed his eyes and kissed her back, a fleeting thought crossing his mind as her hands wound into his hair.

_This is definitely not Parkinson. _


	2. Curls

**Chapter One**

Draco stared across the common room at Parkinson with his eyes narrowed and arms crossed. She was practically rolling all over the floor like a mutt wanting its belly rubbed and it sickened him.

He didn't know why he had sought solace from her for so long; perhaps it was because he knew he did not have to work for her affection. He certainly knew it was not because he was attracted to her; the girl was the most annoying he had ever come to know.

_Except perhaps Granger._

A smirk tugged at Draco's lips. The Gryffindor know-it-all had it coming and he was just bidding his time, waiting for someone to pounce and put her in her place.

"Draco," Parkinson whined, getting up off the floor and crawling towards him.

Draco sneered down at her approaching figure. _Yes, mutt is definitely an accurate description._

"What do you want now, Parkinson?" he sneered lazily.

"Why didn't you come find me last night?" she moaned, pawing at his leg.

"I gave you explicate instructions to meet me in the broom closet on the third floor, Parkinson," Draco snarled. "You stood me up."

_And caused a delicious little encounter with my intriguing mystery witch…_

"There are seven broom closets on the third floor!" Parkinson whined, looking up at him with what Draco assumed were supposed to be puppy eyes. "I didn't know which one you meant."

"You really are an insult to this house, Parkinson," Draco snarled. "I told you to meet me in the closet next to that statue of Rogus the Wrecker. Or did your canine brain find such directions hard to decipher?"

Parkinson look confused and Draco's sneer deepened.

"Go away," he demanded, pushing at her shoulder lightly. Her stance made it difficult to move her. She growled slightly before pulling her 'puppy eyes' attempt on him again.

"Parkinson, if you do not leave right now I will tell this entire room about the lice you became acquainted with over the summer –"

"You wouldn't dare!" Parkinson gasped, scrambling to her feet and clenching his shoulders hard in her hands. "That's private!"

"Well you should have kept them to yourself then, shouldn't you?" Draco drawled, moving his face away from hers slightly as he spoke. He gave her a smirk before lazily getting to his feet and heading for his dormitory.

* * *

Draco handed Crabbe a glass flask containing a thick lilac-coloured fluid.

"She's some blonde second year," he explained as Crabbe looked down at it stupidly. "The hair was easy to get; she fell for my charm in seconds."

Crabbe gave a rumbling chuckle and gulped it down. Draco smirked and looked away, studying the stretch of wall before him.

"I shouldn't be longer than an hour," he said. "Keep an eye out for anyone who might cause trouble."

He turned and looked at Crabbe, not surprised that he was now four feet shorter and sprouting blonde curls. He handed over a jar of frogspawn, nodded and headed for the door that had suddenly appeared in the wall.

"Remember to drop that jar as soon as you sense trouble."

The room was, as always, monstrous in size, with towering piles of junk and forbidden objects. He'd been in here so many times that he was not fazed by the labyrinth passages between shelves and junk piles. He headed straight forward through the first passage, looking around at the objects carefully. He often wondered if perhaps something in this massive hall would help him in his mission but he found little time to investigate.

Reaching a towering pile of ruined books, Fanged Frisbees and Exploding Gobstones, Draco took a right and an immediate left before heading down another endless passage of junk. About ten metres away sat the ruined cabinet and Draco sighed.

It was always a relief to see it still there; not touched by anyone but him.

He looked down at his golden watch before taking a seat on a chair he had conjured many moons ago. Taking off his book bag, he groped around, extracting a large book and opening it to a dog-eared page.

A moment later he pulled out his wand and an hour after that, Draco was confident that he knew what to do.

As he left the Room of Hidden Things, he immediately sent Crabbe away and off to dinner and made his own way to the third floor bloom closet he had met his mystery woman in a week previous.

He had found a total of three private sanctuaries this year. One was the Room of Hidden Things, where he underwent his work, another was the second floor bathroom where he went when he was frustrated, angry and, though he hated to admit it, scared. The closet next to Rogus the Wrecker on the third floor was where he went to think, to relax. There was no light and as the corridor outside was also quite dim, very little light filtered in. He liked the darkness; it erased distraction.

He had come here this night, however, to see if his mystery witch came back for an encore. After minutes of gentle kissing a week ago, Draco had spoken to her in a voice that was dissimilar to his own.

"_Next week."_

He had said it because he was intrigued by her, by the nature of her kisses, the softness of her hands so gentle in his hair.

In a way, her nature scared him. She was everything Parkinson wasn't. She had not kissed as though she was starving, she had not growled loudly at his tongue entering her mouth.

She had breathed and absorbed him entirely.

_She was not a Slytherin._

The door creaked as it opened and he saw her silhouette dancing against the dim light of the corridor behind her. Once again he couldn't see her face and he knew she couldn't see much of his either but he did not mind; he enjoyed not knowing, he enjoyed the secrecy that surrounded their encounters.

He groped for her arm and pulled her once more into his sanctuary. He placed his hands on either side of her face and just held her there a moment. She did not move; she did not attempt to jump away.

He leant in and placed an experimental kiss where he knew her lips would be. Her breath came out in a tiny sigh that his ears barely heard. He moved his hands from her face and felt at her hair. When he found it tied back in a long pony tail, he lightly, blindly smoothed a hand through it and he smirked slightly.

_Curls. Soft curls_.

He liked curls. They meant passion, they meant fire. They meant rebellion.

He wrapped his arms around her and continued to kiss her, just as lightly and intently as she was kissing him in response. She was so perfect, so deliberate in guiding her lips over his that Draco knew not how to describe just how passionate it was.

Once again he was struck with how this scared him slightly but he ignored it, lightly touching his tongue over her lower lip. She obliged immediately and surrendered to the passion.

He was lost.

Several minutes later they broke apart and Draco leaned back against the wall, holding her hips lightly.

He listened to her breathing and smirked again to himself.

She shifted against him slightly and drew herself away. A couple of moments later she had turned the doorknob, opened the door and left. She had not spoken a word, as she hadn't during their last encounter.

Draco found that at that moment he did not care at all.


	3. Warning

**Chapter Two**

Parkinson was at it again.

She sat in the back row of the Charms classroom, staring at his backside like she was a starving pigeon and he was the peanut she had been longing to eat. Draco felt unnerved by it – not only had she already feasted on him an hour earlier but it had been one of the most revolting experiences of his life.

Sex with Parkinson had once been _enjoyable_ in a manner of speaking; he certainly enjoyed it more than watching Crabbe and Goyle have mince-pie eating contests that usually resulted with them walking around like drunk buffoons and vomiting in armor helmets.

Draco frowned to himself. He _had_ always wondered what the house-elves put in those pies.

House-elf cooking queries aside for the moment, however.

This morning with Parkinson had not given him an appetite either; in fact, after fifteen minutes of trying to respond to her affections he had walked from the room butt naked, jumpy and in search for a potion that would keep her the hell away.

Obviously he had found no such potion; Parkinson looked ready to sniff his backside and mount readily into position at any moment.

If Draco had not been so calm and collected he would have shuddered at the thought. Instead, Draco thought back to his mission. His success was becoming more urgent; they were now well into the second half of the school year was and although he had an idea as to what he had to do he was yet to fix the cabinet.

It had been a frustrating experience, having wasted most of the school year getting nowhere, having not yet fixed the cabinet completely. It had tired him greatly; he had been ill and run down for months but the task at hand was more important than eating full meals or sleeping eight hours a night.

There was also the problem named Potter.

Draco was entirely aware of Harry Potter's eyes watching his every move. He knew the boy suspected he was up to something; he also knew that Harry knew Voldemort had asked him to go about this mission. Potter's invisible presence in his compartment on the Hogwarts Express was enough to make him certain of it.

Although Draco was yet to catch him in the act, Draco knew Harry was following and spying on him, trying to get answers. It was Potter after all but Draco knew Potter was unlikely to ever get into the Room of Hidden Things while he was there.

Draco jabbed his quill into the parchment before him a little too roughly, causing the material to tear. With a grumble, he pulled out his wand and made a quick repair before he turned his thoughts back to the cabinet.

Tonight, he would practice. Tonight he would try to master the first of the three spells that he would need in order to fix the cabinet in the required time.

A lazy grin came to Draco's lips and he looked up from the parchment in bliss. The grin swiftly flew from his mouth when he heard Parkinson give a tiny, agitated growl from behind him and scoot her table closer to him.

* * *

Something was blocking Draco from using the Room of Hidden Things. He paced up and down the corridor, staring at the stretch of wall as he thought wildly of the room and why he needed to get in there.

It had taken an entire two weeks but Draco had finally mastered the magic-restoring charm. He had spent hours upon hours trying it on a damaged Remembrall until finally, just minutes ago, the Remembrall had flashed silver and then, as he lifted it in his hands, had turned red.

He did not know what he had forgotten to do but he assumed that if it was glowing red it meant it was fixed. He was just contemplating using a destructive curse to break through to the room when he was startled into action when the door opened to let someone out.

A sharp tap of his wand upon his head and he watched, Disillusioned, as Hermione Granger gracefully exited. She pushed her fringe out of her eyes before heading in the direction opposite to where Draco stood.

Draco gave a sigh of relief as the wall once again returned to its blank state and once more he paced, breathing another sigh of relief when the door reappeared. He dashed forward and wrenched it open, moving forward in excitement. Reaching the cabinet, he raised his wand and jabbed it against the metallic surface, thinking wildly of the magic-restoring spell.

Nothing happened. "Wha-?"

I was then that it struck him. No matter how well he did the spell, he could not restore the magic until the cabinet itself was fixed. Crumbling to the ground, he wept, the frustration overwhelming him to the core.

It was times like these that he would normally seek out his ghostly friend Myrtle but he did not want to move from the cabinet, hoping desperately that maybe another idea will come to mind in moments, allowing him to quicken the process of fixing it.

Draco sat beside the cabinet for what felt like hours, scolding himself for his stupidity. It was as he made to leave after checking his reflection in the large gold mirror in the second row of junk that he considered going to the closet beside Rogus the Wrecker to get his thoughts in order.

As he left the Room of Hidden Things, he was surprised to see that Hermione Granger was lingering in the corridor outside. She was looking at him cautiously, her bushy hair falling in messy curls around her face.

"What were you doing in there, Malfoy?" she questioned quietly.

"What? Potter can't come and ask me himself?" Draco sneered.

Granger remained quiet for a moment. "I'm not sure I believe what Harry suspects you of."

Draco gave a chuckle. "So you've come to get answers from me in person?" he smirked. "I must say, Granger, I'm surprised you would think I'd tell you."

"I don't think you will," Granger said matter-of-factly. "But I thought I'd give you the warning: you'd be surprised just how many people are watching you!"

"I don't need your help Granger!" Draco snarled harshly. "You're nothing but a foul little Mudblood who needs to stay out of other people's business before she gets what's coming to her."

Granger did not falter. "Forget I even bothered than Malfoy," she said stiffly and with that she walked away.

Draco watched her go with his eyes narrowed. He really hated that witch.

However, there was no doubt in him that her words had affected him some; he felt uneasy about what she said and he suddenly had the lingering feeling of eyes watching him from every angle, despite being alone in the corridor.

Scowling to himself he followed the path Granger had taken towards the stairs before heading down them, pleased that there was no sign of her lingering about.

Finding the statue of Rogus the Wrecker, he checked the corridor carefully before quietly heading in, shutting the door and muttering a locking charm behind him.

He stumbled back against the door when a floral musk scent met his nostrils and he suddenly felt a pair of soft and wonderfully familiar lips pressed against his.

She drew back, Draco cursing the dark for making him blind and unable to see her. His eyes narrowed in wonder when he heard her hushed whisper.

"_You don't mind, do you?"_

Draco answered by taking her lips in his once more.


	4. Snape

**Chapter Three**

She was driving Draco crazy. Each of her kisses drew something within him that was forbidden and unwanted. All year, he had prayed for some relief but he had never thought he'd seek it in such a form.

Neither of them spoke; they merely shared kisses that left Draco only wanting more; he had never felt anything like it before.

Suddenly that scared him and fear was something he was well acquainted with at present.

He drew back, his eyes narrowed against the darkness, taking in the silhouette of his mysterious friend. He wanted to know who she was but something told him that he did not want to know.

That he preferred not knowing.

He reflected back to the couple of times he had seen her enter this closet, the dim light from the corridor outside shadowing her face completely. Just minutes ago he had seen a flash of her face before the door swung shut but the few features he had seen had given him nothing of her identity.

He came to wonder if she knew who he was or whether she even cared.

"Why do we do this?"

Her voice filled the space in a straggled whisper and he frowned deeper, wishing she would use her true voice, wishing he would have something more to know her by.

"My life is hell," Draco muttered bitterly, trying hard to disguise his own voice.

He felt her shuffle against him wearily and he chose to think nothing of it.

He kissed her again with fervor, enjoying her embrace and the comfort it brought. She responded in kind, whimpering slightly as his hands tightened on her hips and he guided her backwards to lean against a wall.

She broke away abruptly, pushing at his shoulders and demanding him to move a step away from her.

"What _is_ this?"

She still spoke in her straggled whisper and Draco clenched his fists in irritation. She was not supposed to voice these questions; she was supposed to oblige to his needs. She was not supposed to question his intentions at all.

But even Draco knew that this scenario was not one she had asked for. He had brought it upon her the moment he had heard her passing and had blindly dragged her into his space, believing her to be Parkinson but not recoiling when he realized she was not.

"I don't know who you are –" she muttered bitterly.

"You don't want to know me," Draco hissed darkly, glad that even he didn't recognize the tone as his own voice.

"Then what is this?"

She used her true voice this time and Draco's frown deepened. It licked at his sides excitedly, his brain suddenly possessing a dull buzz that sent something coursing through his veins.

Something in that voice he recognized, though he could not at that moment detect what.

Draco remained silent, staring curiously at the silhouette the girl before him.

He leaned lazily back against the wall, never letting his eyes leave her heavily shadowed form. He listened as she gave a small mutter, most likely to herself before she turned abruptly and picked something up from the ground.

Draco strained his eyes as she opened the door a foot before heading through it. The light outside, although very dim, reached his eyes and momentarily blinded him. By the time sight returned, she was minutes gone, leaving only the lingering scent of the floral perfume he had come accustomed to smelling on her.

He cursed himself for not immediately following her.

* * *

Draco was skipping class.

He took a long sip from the gold furnace he'd brought with him as he stared alertly at the broken cabinet, his wand raised at it as he prepared himself to perform the spell he had been practicing since the night before.

It was a charm he had found in an ancient book of his fathers which he had found unused in the manor's library over the Christmas break. It was a wizard maintenance book of sorts, something that was unlikely to have been used for many generations by those in his family. It had only been on returning to the common room after his confrontation in the closet next to Rogus the Wrecker that he had remembered it and taken it out to read.

He was now cursing himself for not having read it sooner.

Silently, he flicked his wand and from its tip a cord of purple light flew and slowly wrapped itself around the damaged cabinet.

Draco watched as the cabinet slowly started to repair, the drawers clicking into place as they straightened and reattached. The dents all quickly disappeared.

The cabinet remained within the bindings for nearly an hour, Draco imagining that the spell was repairing the inside of the cabinet also.

It was not until the cabinet glowed a bright purple that he knew the initial repairs were complete.

It was now time for him to try and establish the link between this cabinet and its pair, something he had researched thoroughly before now but was yet to identify a suitable way of doing so.

He saw several long and sleepless nights ahead him.

* * *

He was shocked at first, seeing Severus Snape sitting in one of the armchairs as he entered the common room at three o'clock the next morning.

"Still not getting anywhere?" the older man drawled, standing from the chair with his greasy curtains of hair sending his menacing face into shadow.

Draco scowled and continued walking, wanting to ignore the man who had been breathing down his neck all year.

"I thought you would have been more careful after I warned you about Potter's concerns…"

A week previous, Professor Snape had approached Draco after Defense Against the Dark arts to say that Potter had, at some point, approached Dumbledore regarding his suspicions about Draco and the incidents with Katie Bell and Ronald Weasley.

"Potter should just learn to stay out of it!" Draco snarled. "Besides, no one else is any the wiser, are they?"

"As much as I agree with you and your opinion of Potter," Snape drawled. "Your mother is insisting that I help –"

"And as I've said several times already I am fine to do it on my own!" Draco snarled, his temper, so close to the edge these days, starting to bubble over. "I'm getting closer. In a few weeks…"

"The Dark Lord is growing impatient, Draco…"

"I'll have it done in a few weeks!" Draco snapped, making to get away.

Snape grabbed his arm suddenly.

"What is it that you're planning, boy?"

Draco looked up at the professor with a glaring sneer. "_You'll see_."

He wrenched his arm from Snape's grip and hurried away, angry.

He didn't need Snape's help. He was close. In a few weeks, he would be victorious, Dumbledore would be dead and the Dark Lord would reward him tremendously.

Draco took a moment to picture himself at the top of the fifth tower, standing over the dead body of Albus Dumbledore, while his Dark Mark excitedly licked his arm and Potter cried hysterically in the background.

He shuddered slightly, suddenly feeling cold as he stared blankly at the dark canopy of his four poster bed.

The concept of killing an old and powerful man was yet to sit right with him. He hoped that in the weeks to come, he'd come to accept that this was his fate if he wanted to continue living happily with family and friends.

And he desperately hoped that his prediction of 'a few weeks' was indeed correct.


	5. Septumsempra

**_Author Notes:_**

**_1) I have re-written and edited parts of the previous 3 chapters (not including the Prologue). They are only tiny changes and if you read the following statement then you will not have to go back and read the previous chapters again to understand what these changes involve and why they were made:_**

**_- THE ORIGINAL TIMELINE FOR THIS STORY WAS SET AFTER THE SEPTEMSEMPRA INCIDENT. I HAVE CHANGED THIS TO ALLOW MORE TIME FOR THIS STORY TO GET STARTED. THE SEPTEMSEMPRA INCIDENT HAPPENS IN THIS CHAPTER!_**

**_2) This is an angsty chapter with no closet goodness. I'm sorry. I'll make up for it in the next..._**

**_3) This is no longer my favourite story to have written. Following one of JKR's books specifically limits story-telling and I've had trouble really getting into it. I will continue to write this however, as I am hoping that it will get better and better as it goes. _**

**_4) Please note that most of the dialogue in this chapter is taken dirently from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince and that it is JK Rowling's and not my own_**

**Chapter Four**

Draco scanned the Great Hall for a vision of curly hair but it was no use; at every house table sat several witches whose hair could resemble that of the girl he had taken to meeting.

Two weeks had passed since their last encounter and Draco was growing more and more frustrated by the minute. He had come no closer to fixing the cabinet and although he had visited the closet every night when he had had enough, he always found it empty and it remained that way for the entire duration he stayed.

After their last encounter, he was not surprised that she was no longer interested; she had every right to ask the questions she had. Perhaps she had thought, momentarily, that he had deliberately dragged _her_ into the closet the first time. Perhaps she had thought he was a secret admirer of some sort.

He had made it quite clear that his meeting her was a selfish act and that she was just the object of his momentarily relief, that what they were doing meant nothing but the savior of his sanity.

Draco's eyes caught sight of Potter from across the Hall. He and Ron Weasley were laughing at something Granger had just said or done.

_The Golden Trio_ – how he wanted to do nothing but slam their faces against one of the castle walls and get away with it. They were caught in the centre of all this darkness and yet they still managed to smile, stay calm and not worry.

Sulkily, Draco stood and left, making his way immediately to the marble staircase in the Entrance Hall. He did not bother calling upon Crabbe and Goyle to follow him and stand guard. He would sit before the cabinet for hours today – he had to do all he could in order to fix it.

He blindly checked his pockets for the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder and his wand before he headed right into a shortcut he had memorized months ago.

Within minutes he was inside the Room of Hidden Things, standing blankly before the cabinet. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and fell to his knees.

"Please," he muttered, hopelessly turning a page of the Wizard Maintenance book with his wand.

Five hours later and he had gotten nowhere.

* * *

Draco growled as he pitched the chair at the cabinet, followed by a cracked mirror that lay close by.

He was beyond frustrated. He sobbed desperately as a large dent appeared in the side of the metal and one of the drawers creaked and fell loudly to the floor.

He was a dead man and no one could save him. Balling his hands into fists, he stormed from the large Room, happily sending various items of junk cascading to the floor as he went. He wrenched open the door and left, heading blindly for the only place he could think to go at that moment: the boys' bathroom a floor below.

It had been nearly 3 months since he had first met the ghost Myrtle in there. He had been shocked at first, as it was against ghostly regulations for a female ghost to invade upon male-only areas. But as she had started to talk to him in a manner that comforted him and related to him he had found the company quite calming.

He had of course not told her the entire truth about why he was in there. He had told her only variations of the truth: that he was alone, scared, that people were making his life hell…

It had been enough to convince her that although tears fell from his eyes he had every reason to let them. He knew from the moment he saw her that she would not judge and she hadn't – she had understood.

He had visited her once more after that; on this occasion it had been in the girls' bathroom on the second floor where she had told him she lived. He had gone there for further comfort but that had been well before his encounter with the girl in the closet.

From then on he had relied on experiencing something that felt surreal to him.

Pushing open the door to the bathroom, he checked that there was no one else present before leaning against a basin and sobbing desperately as tears tumbled from his eyes.

He wanted it over – he wanted it done with. He was tired of working in circles, unsure how he should next go about his task. He was getting no closer. Only two weeks ago he had aimed for the mission to be completed within a maximum of four weeks time. He was sure, now, that it was going to take longer.

He thought back to the help Snape had offered him and for a moment he considered taking it. However, a lagging feeling within him told him not to trust the man and that if he allowed anyone to help him Voldemort was sure to kill him.

"I wondered if you were going to return," a voice murmured from behind him.

He looked up into the mirror and felt relief wash over him. It was Myrtle. She had her pale face leaning to the side slightly as she considered him with concern.

"I've been … busy," Draco gasped in explanation of his absence before looking away.

"I understand," Myrtle cooed, gliding closer.

Another wash of sobs overwhelmed Draco and he screwed his eyes shut desperately. "It's not working. I'm not getting any closer."

His entire body shook and gripped his hands firmly upon the basin in an attempt to gain some control.

This was why he had taken to relying on his confrontations in the closet. Seeking a moment of serenity, experiencing something surreal, was so much easier to deal with when facing his current situation.

Although talking about it made him feel somewhat better, doing so made him outline just how terrible the situation he was in was. He, at this stage, saw no hope. He saw no silver lining that would mean he was free.

"I'm a dead man!" he cried dramatically and with a swift movement of his wand, he sent Myrtle flying into a cubicle and held her there. "There's no way I can do it!"

"Don't," Myrtle crooned from behind the door that, despite being a ghost, she could not get passed as long as he held her there. "Don't … tell me what's wrong … I can help you …"

Draco would have laughed if his body had let him. "No one can help me," he said, his body still shaking violently against the ceramic of the basin. "I can't do it … I can't … it won't work … and unless I do it soon … he says he'll kill me…"

A violent shudder rippled through his body and he gasped from the effort of crying and keeping Myrtle locked in the cubicle. He gave a great gulp and looked up to view his hopeless face in the mirror.

He was shocked to see stunned bright green eyes staring into his.

Draco wheeled around, raising his wand immediately and sending a curse Potter's way.

It missed by inches.

Draco quickly blocked Potter's spell before aiming again for another.

"No! No! Stop it!" squealed Moaning Myrtle, who had escaped from the cubicle and was watching the dual with horrified eyes from the door of the cubicle. "Stop! STOP!"

Draco's curse violently hit the bin behind Harry as Harry's hit the cistern Myrtle was currently hovering above. She screamed terribly as water poured everywhere, covering the tiled floor and surrounding the boys as they continued to fight. It lapped aggressively at their ankles.

Draco raised his wand, determined, just as Harry moved his feet and slipped.

"Cruci –"

The world paused for a moment as Harry desperately raised his wand and interrupted the curse Draco had wished not to use.

"SEPTUMSEMPRA!"

Draco was doomed.


End file.
